


ink it in on my skin

by thewonderzebra



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and silliness, M/M, More of my self-indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 22:23:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16105025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewonderzebra/pseuds/thewonderzebra
Summary: Brad is feeling sentimental (and slightly impulsive). Patrice appreciates the cheesiness.





	ink it in on my skin

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's been a while, but I'm back! This fic was loosely inspired by Hunter Hayes' "Tattoo". While listening certainly isn't required, I think it sums this particular plot bunny up pretty well.

When Brad gets home from running errands and starts putting things away, the first thing Patrice notices is not that he bought everything on the list (though he did do just that), but the bandage around his wrist. He thinks about it, and realizes his other half had been gone longer than a normal errand run would have entailed. Had he gotten hurt and needed to go to the doctor? Patrice can feel himself frowning at the thought, his mind going a million places with that tidbit of potential information as Brad disappears from his view. 

As though Brad can read his mind, Patrice suddenly feels a pair of familiar arms wrap around his waist from behind and pull him close. He relishes the feeling of Brad's arms around him, but this also gives him a better opportunity to fixate on his love's bandaged wrist. He doesn't see any blood stains, which is a positive, but he's still worried. 

"What're you making that face for?" Patrice can feel Brad's voice reverberate against his back. The sound is unexpected, and cuts into the assistant captain's brooding reverie. "I'm not making a face," he tries to protest, though his protest is sure to fall on deaf ears. 

Unsurprisingly, Brad releases a sigh that is just on the side of utter exasperation. "Yes you are," he says. And though he is known for being lippy on the ice, he absolutely hates arguing with Patrice. "I know you are." 

Patrice doesn't particularly feel like fighting with Brad, either--he never does--so he leans back against him and picks up the shorter man's bandaged wrist, stroking it gently with his thumbs. "I'm worried about you," he says. "What happened while you were out? Are you hurt?" 

"Hurt?" Brad asks, somewhat incredulously. "No, I'm not hurt." Then, his hold on Patrice is relinquished, and the assistant captain is worried that he has gone too far, breached the wall of trust between them. That is, until Brad comes to stand squarely in front of Patrice, his fingers working carefully to unwrap the bandage and expose his wrist. 

When Brad holds his wrist out, Patrice feels his heart skip a beat. There, on the fair skin of his wrist in a place only Brad would be able to see easily, is the number 37. The numbers are bold in black and outlined faintly with gold ink. Simple though the design may be, its significance and permanence catches Patrice's breath in his chest. He certainly doesn't need any physical proof that Brad loves him, but that is exactly what this is. 

"Marchy," the assistant captain breathes. "Did you really…?" He trails off, looking at his other half in loving disbelief. 

Brad shrugs and smiles shyly. "Yeah, I did," the left winger replies. "I was just…feeling sentimental today. And every day, really. I want some way to constantly be reminded that we're together even if we're physically apart, and this was the best way I could think of." 

"That's ridiculously cheesy," Patrice says. He tries for less than a full second to keep his voice chastising, but it is a failed attempt. He just can't seem to stop smiling. 

Of course, that doesn't stop Brad from worrying. His forehead scrunches in concern as he looks up at Patrice, and his cheeks become suddenly quite pink. "You don't like it?" he asks. He bites his lip nervously. 

Patrice laughs softly, and rolls his eyes. "Of course I like it," he murmurs, and brings Brad's newly tattooed wrist to his lips to kiss over the ink gently. "It's incredibly sweet that you did that, ange, and I love it. I love you." And Brad can’t quite think of anything to say to that other than to return the "I love you", so he just lets himself be pulled into Patrice's arms, lets himself be kissed and loved in the middle of their kitchen, eternally grateful to have the affection of this man.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment down below if you so choose; positive feedback feeds my plot bunnies. Come yell with/at me about hockey (and whatever else you'd like) on Tumblr. I'm under the same pen-name there, too. (@thewonderzebra).


End file.
